


The Drummer

by bookeater_otaku, Shiroyuki9



Series: BPRD Insolite Chronicles [2]
Category: Discworld - Terry Pratchett, Hellboy (Comics), Hellboy - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, Mild Language, Psychological Drama, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-21
Updated: 2014-10-21
Packaged: 2018-02-22 02:52:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2491793
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bookeater_otaku/pseuds/bookeater_otaku, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shiroyuki9/pseuds/Shiroyuki9
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A war re-enactment gone wrong at a town's fair and Hellboy have to save the day. Told from one of the witnesses' point of view, who probably did more than Hellboy this time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Drummer

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Hellboy belong to Mike Mignola and Death belong to Sir Terry Pratchett.
> 
> First publish on ff.net on March 13 2012  
> https://www.fanfiction.net/s/7922192/1/The-Drummer

The Drummer

 

 

Hello, my name's Samuel, and I'm writing this in my blog to tell you the story of the most incredible day of my life. Or the worse, I can’t quite decide yet. I don’t know if you're gonna believe me but what I'm about to tell you is entirely true.

 

Two days ago I met Hellboy. You know that demon guy that had his article in the Time magazine, don’t you? Like most people I thought it was just a hoax or some kind of joke, but I’m telling you, ‘He’ is real. And let me tell you something else; if you get to meet Hellboy, its either you have the kind of luck that let you meet a celeb on the street by pure hazard... or you are in deep shit.

 

For me, it was the second one.

 

But I should tell you the events in orders. It goes like this.

 

It all began because of a dumb movie: Drum Line. I saw that movie in junior high that somewhat make me believe it was cool to be a drummer for a marching band and next month when I got in high school, I enrolled in it. I soon came to the realization that in the social ladder of teenage hood, I committed myself to the bottom of the social ladder. I became a drummer for the marching band of the school and to make thing worse, I was somewhat good at the drum. I was also really encouraged by the teacher in charge of the band which helps me decide to stay in it.

 

My teacher, let’s call him mister Jones for the sake of privacy, I won’t tell his name because not only he died that night and I somewhat respected him, and since this is the internet I don’t want his name to be linked by what happened. Like Hellboy made me realize later, nobody was really responsible for what happened, I still consider that it was some what my teacher fault for what happened to me.

 

You see, that teacher was also the president of our town American independence war reenactment group. You know those people who dress up in epoch cloths and reenact those historical battles that happened ages ago? Well, there was one of those battles that happened during the independence war near our town. And the city decided to have a huge reenactment battle for the main event of our small town anniversary. Lame, isn’t it? But my teacher was overjoyed and he was amongst those in charge of the organization of the event. He was really excited about it; he got volunteer actors from two towns away and other reenactment groups from far away to participate. I don’t know how he managed it, be he got more than four hundred participants, with props, epoch clothing’s, realistic weapon, canon replica, etc. It was going to be big and it took him almost a year to plan everything but he managed to organize every thing perfectly.

 

He wanted everything to be as realistic as possible. I guess that's what caused his demise… He approached me about two months ago because he wanted me to be the drummer boy for one of the ‘regiment’ because there was no one good at it. A drummer boy, from what you can guess is the guy who plays the drum for the solider to march in rhythm, in other things. He wanted me to do it because I could play the drum correctly and the fact that I was young would only add to the realism of the thing. You see in these times if you were the youngest and the weakest in the group, you were saddled with the drum because the weapon were too important and were left to the more competent ones.

 

Suck to be you if that happened. You are at the front line with the other, bullets are flying everywhere, the enemy’s line his charging towards you with muskets all bayonet out, and all you got to defend yourself was a stupid drum. Look like to me that someone got the short straw on this.

 

Anyway, in the end I accepted because I somewhat appreciated that teacher more than the others and that my part in the play would be minor and simple. If only I knew what part I would have to play in it, I would probably have started to run the moment he asked me and wouldn’t have stopped as I disappeared over the horizon.

 

Over the next months, I got fitted for my costume, learned the simple scores of music I had to play and attended some rehearsal, and when mid-October came, it was time for our town anniversary. I didn't really had the chance to enjoy the fair in town, with the food stand and the merry go rounds. I was stuck all day with the others participants for the final preparation in a stuffy costume and parading into town to promote the event. To make thing worse it rained a little last nigh and with the unusually high temperature for the season, the humidity in the air was making everyone sweating gallons.The mock battle was going to replicate its historical counterpart was going to happen near dusk.

 

Nobody exactly knew where the battle happened, but there was a farming field at the edge of the fair and the farmer accepted to lend it for the day, making it the perfect location. The grass had been cut short and all the actors, in their costume were standing in their respecting squadron in outdated military strategies. The red uniforms of the English solider, the blue of the French ally and the mismatch of color, garbs and cloth of the American militia. If it wasn’t for the crowd on the bleacher installed for the event some yards away, you would actually believe that we were about to fight a real battle for the independence of our future nation. Kudos for my teacher and all the organizers, they really outdid themselves.

 

I heard the cry of our ‘commanding officer’ to take their places. The play was about to begin,there was tension in the air and everybody got serious, focusing to be in character as much as possible as we were instructed.

 

I began to play my drum to the rhythm we rehearsed, commencing the march toward ours next position. Everything began to fall into place. Some were so into it, you would have believed they were actually going into battle.

 

Now looking back I wonder how much of it was actual acting and how much of it was real for some of them at this point.

 

As the formation moved with the staccato of the drum, the melody of the flute and the barking order from the officer, the cooling air of the evening was a welcome feeling from the tepid heat of the day. In fact, it had gotten cooler too fast and a light fog came rolling from the line of tree at our right, almost five fields over. It was an insidious carpet that was onto us before we realize it. And obvious to it, we all continued acting like the soldiers of olds.

 

We stopped advancing, the narrator was delivering his text and the French, the English and the militia commanding officers were going to do the ‘ _peace talk’_. My teacher, the British officer, was amongst those with his ridiculous curled wig.

 

The main actor, were playing their role in the center of the field, where the English are discussing our surrender and the others told them to shove it and go back to their tea parties, but many of my co-actors were beginning to act strangely, like they were uneasy about something or somewhat absent minded. The light of the day was getting dimmers by the second, and our field of vision getting narrower. While the light was getting away, the fog decided to take its place and was getting ticker by the minute.

 

It got so tick I was wondering if they were gonna cancel the show, since the spectator would see nothing. But I still heard the narrator speaking its text to the crowd uninterrupted, its sounds muffled by the fog. And since the original battle add taken place at night, the event was supposed to be illuminated by various fire pit from both camp, and powerful spotlights, high behind the bleacher. And even with all that, I could barely see twelve feet in front of me.

 

I looked around for any indication of what we were suppose to do about the fog from my fellow squad members, but the other were so into their act that they didn’t even seem to notice it. Then I heard the order to march form our ‘commanding officer’, the show must go on, I guess.

 

And so I played my drum as we marched toward the second act. That was when thing began to get… weird.

 

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

 

What happened next his practically a big blur to me. But I clearly remember hearing the orders and me having to relay them through my drum. The guy next me was mumbling in fright and I only realized second before the first fire salvo that he was actually praying. And after that… The thundering sound of the musket firing, the barking order to reload.

 

The second salvos.

 

The hollow thud of a bullet hitting a body? Groan of pains and cry of agony? Or the fact that in my fear, I saw an actual cannon ball bouncing off the ground a few yards in front of me? The earth that got sprayed all over from the impact, the arc the ball of cast iron rushed right beside me, trough the praying man and took the leg of the guy behind him like it was an after tough of something to do while passing. It was like I was in a movie and everything went in slow motion.

 

And the smell… The humid smell of the air and the profound one of the earth freshly moved made the base of what I smelt only to be replaced by the acre of the gunpowder smoke, the somewhat metallic smell of blood but in the end I remember that everything had an under tone of the stench of the excrement the dead inadvertently let out.

 

I remember seeing, mad men coming out of the cloud of mist, charging our line bayonet to the barrel, bellowing war cries. I think that’s when I started running. I don’t know why I didn’t before, I was frozen in place by my own fear I guess and besides, it wasn’t supposed to be real. Everywhere around me were people firing their guns, running, trying to guts the guy in front of them before he does it. Chaos and Madness. And this damn fog that kept me from seeing where I was going. I couldn’t go anywhere without having to pass through a group of soldiers hacking at each other.

 

But I kept running, trying to get to safety. I barely ducked in time when someone swigged the cross of its musket at me, trying to relocate my head in another sector than my shoulders. From the uniform I think he was supposed to be a ‘French’ and thought they were supposed to be on my side. Before he could try again I pushed him on his back and I took off like death was on my heels.

 

Ha! I unintentionally made a joke there. Maybe death really was on my heels because moment later something behind me exploded, projecting me on the ground. My ears were ringing, I had my breath cut and I was hurting all over even with the adrenalin rushing through my veins. That had actually left a pretty big purple bruise on my back and side and even as I'm writing this, I'm trying to not lean on it.

 

I don’t know how long I was on the ground, it didn’t felt that long, I manage to push myself up and continue stumbling I fast as I could toward where I though was the edge of the field. Something wet kept dripping down my face into my right eye. I try to sponge it with my sleeve only to realize it was blood. I don’t think I immediately realized it was mine; I was just concentrating on keeping walking toward freedom.

 

I slowly began to regain my hearing, only to realized that the battlefield add become quiet. Well quiet compared to what it was earlier. I could hear the cries, the moans and the screams; I think I was better off not hearing. I could see the shadow of other peoples who were walking around. The same damned mix of smell was assaulting my nose. I was dirty and sticky, while I felt hot inside and freezing on the outside.

 

A peculiar though ran through my mind in those moments: ‘So that what’s a battle was like? All that waiting for a few minute of anguish, confusion and pain?’

 

I finally walked out of the field, out of this fucking fog, right in front of the bleacher. People had a look of horror and stupor on their faces. Some of them were in tears. I saw policemen running around and ambulance coming from afar. Some other persons were rushing to help other actors coming out of the field. People did not pay attention to me. I turned around to watch as some of the mist was tinning out and I could get a good panoramic view of the battlefield. God, what mess. I stood there for a while observing everything before someone got interested in me.

 

And do you know what? My drum was still intact on my sling and I was holding my drumstick so hard that my knuckles were whites.

 

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

 

Thing got organized, I got patched up, was given a blanket and was made to sit in the gym of my school with all the other that weren’t too injured. I only got out of there with some bruises and a somewhat medium cut on the forehead. Glad it was only that, because I wouldn’t have wanted to be in the hospital at the moment. It was overflowing with wounded and the gravest cases were sent to bigger hospital out of the county. So everybody that were somewhat ok were sent here at the gym.

 

So here I was, still in epoch costume, sitting against the wall with a blanket over my shoulder and my drum on top of my leg asking myself the million dollars question that everybody had on their lips: What the HELL happened back there?

 

It was supposed to be only a reenactment, not a fucking second try. We had nothing that could have hurt anybody. We had no real bullet, no real cannon ball. Heck! I remember someone explaining to me at one of the rehearsal that it wasn’t even the real gunpowder that was going to be used. It just supposed to make noise and smoke!

 

So the people in charge of the investigation put everyone that had anything to do with the play in the gym until they could make out what happened. The gym was pack with paramedics, wounded, disbelieving organizers, policemen asking question, journalists trying to sneak in, etc. It was a pandemonium and nobody seemed to know what was going on.

 

I had my turn with the police inspector, they ask me a couple of questions, most of them I didn’t know the answer and after that, they told me that they had to keep the people involved around a little more before we could go home. And we waited. I was sitting in my little corner and nobody was paying attention to me, I had nothing to do, so I was free to listen to the conversation and look at what was going on.

 

But the thing is, that it was now night time and things weren’t calming down at all. The policemen didn’t seem to get anywhere with their investigation, I heard whispers among the medics about wound that wouldn’t close and that they couldn’t even find the bullets in some of the cases. Then there were the rescue workers that went to the field to get the wounded before bringing them here or at the hospital. They said that the fog got so thick and with the stars and the moon covered, they had a hard time doing their job with the lack of vision. But that wasn’t all. They told people of distant cries for help they heard in the fog, but when they got where they though the cries where coming from, they found no one, well alive any way. Other said they could swear they saw shape of peoples walking around in the fog and shadow lurking when there was no light. Some even said they kept having the feeling that somebody was watching them from afar.

 

And even here at the gym, some of the other victims were acting funny. Most were still in chock I guess or completely high on pain killer but… not be able to even remember your name or where you were? Some kept mumbling, completely disoriented and other were looking like they were walking inside a dream or like they weren’t even there.

 

And then… there were those who were acting like they were actual soldiers that survived the battle. They couldn’t remember who they were, or if they did kept pretending that they were somebody else. They talked all old fashion like and acted as if they did not even recognize the people around them. I saw this women burst into tears when her husband kept denying knowing her. I even saw a woman dressed as a French soldier, saying that her name was Luc Delarochel or something, and keep insisting that she was a man.

 

My first though was that they were all crazy and that they were responsible for what happened. Like somebody switched real ammos or they all conspired for some kind of mass suicide disguised as a battle or something. The more I thought about it the more it sounded ridiculous and I couldn’t see how they could have done it. I was dirty, tired, hurt and I was just hoping to go home soon.

 

Then a couple hours later, we were still kept around in the gym and some lucky few were even asleep, things began to stir up again. I gathered rumors that some kind of special inspectors had arrived in helicopter or something and they were taking over the investigation. I couldn’t care less until there was a commotion at the entrance of the gym. I couldn't really see from where I was until a group of guy in green army jackets came around the corner. They were looking for something and were interested in particular with those who believed they were in the wrong century.

 

And then, there HE was. Hellboy the famous paranormal investigator. At least two full head taller than anyone else around, walking among the gurneys and camps beds, looking around, asking questions or simply talking with somebody. It’s a strange feeling when something you totally didn’t believe in appears right in front of you. He walked pass me, giving me only a glance. And you know what? He really is all red and got horns and a tail too, it was moving around has he walked. And his right hand really looks like it’s made of stone. It’s not just something he is holding on, it really his hand. I saw him use it and it move like it was made of flesh like ours, but more rigid I guess.

 

I was impressed I admit it, but Hellboy weirded me out. I mean, it’s kind of insulting to say that about someone that you just saw passing by, but that how I felt at the moment. But the arrival of Hellboy and the rest of his group must have stirred the imagination of everybody here and cause the rumor mills started up with a vengeance. Everyone now had a theory or a commentary about what happened earlier. It ranged from governmental conspiracy to alien invasion. Me, I was still sitting in my corner, listening to every conversations passing by. I didn’t believe in stuff like that, and even now I’m not sure what to believe, but at that moment, my mind was still denying all those theories everybody were spewing. Even if the police couldn’t find anything and had to call the BPRD, the Bureau of Paranormal Research and Defense, I had nothing to do with all this and I just wanted everything to be over so I could go home and take a shower.  But forget sleeping, I don’t think that I could have no matter how tired I was. Not that night, not after what happened.

 

After a while, Hellboy got out of the gym while some of the other guys from the BPRD stuck around. Thing around the gym calmed somewhat and after… about two hours I think, he came back. I saw him talking with some peoples from his gang then with one of the nurses I think, he began to walk around looking for something. I could see him from where I was sitting; everybody was giving him a wide berth. Then he spotted me and he began coming in my direction not letting me out of his sight. I didn’t either and the more he was heading my way, the more nervous I felt. ‘Why was he coming toward me? Did I do something wrong?’ I asked myself. I was hoping that he was going to stop for someone else along the way but he didn’t stop for any of them. And finally he was standing in front of me, looking at me and not telling anything. I was really nervous at that point and felling really small in front of him. You wouldn’t believe how tall and impressive he looks when you are sitting on the ground. In fact he looks tall and impressive even if I'm standing up. I was clutching my drum to myself in some sort of improvised shield between me and him.

 

He then said something to me:

 

“Sorry kid but it’s gonna have to be you.”

 

Then, I 'm not sure if I said it out loud but I remember clearly thinking:

 

‘ _FUCK!!_ ’

 

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

 

The short ride toward the field was done in silence save for some pathetic attempts from all parties involved at small talks and I was trying and failing to learn what was I doing there. All I knew was that Hellboy said that he needed me to do something and I had to bring my drum.

 

So we were there, in the middle of the field, the last place on earth where I wanted to be, even if it's with Hellboy. The field was deserted save for us and this damn eerie fog that kept lingering around, though it was slightly less thick than it used to. Earlier, he demanded that everybody leave. I was going to ask him what it was all about but Hellboy beat me to it.

 

“So what’s your name kid?”

 

“Samuel” I answered.

 

“Ok Sam, I need you to play your drum so we can put some old soldiers to rest.”

 

WHAT. THE FUCK!?

 

He must have read the look on my face, because he smirked and continued is explanation. I didn’t know what he found funny in this situation.

 

“I’m serious here.” (Then wipe the smirk out of your face!), “Right now we’re in a hurry and need to finish before dawn but I promise you some explanation once this is over, ok?”

 

I just nodded. What else could I do?

 

“Ok, now listen, I need you to play your drum, then I gonna give you a signal and you start walking toward that trail between the fields. Continue to play, and don’t get out of the path until I stop you. It’s important that you keep playing and that you stay on the beaten ground. Got it?”

 

My lesser instincts must have kick in at that moment, because I had this surge of fear gripping me. I didn’t want to do this and my guts were agreeing that this was a bad idea. I mean this was a real demon in front of me! Could I even trust what he was saying?

 

“Why do I have to do it?! Why don’t you do it? Here, take it!” handing him the instrument.

 

Unfazed by my outburst, he pushes back my drum and put his left hand on my shoulder.

 

“I can’t kid, it has to be you. Don’t worry, nottin’ will happen to ya. I will stay with you all the way.” He said trying to comfort me.

 

I still asked: “Why?”

 

“It’s better if someone that was involved into it do this and…”

 

“And…” not liking where he was going with it.

 

“I can’t play the drum for jack shit.” Hellboy said the smirk back on his face.

 

I knew it.

 

Deciding to learn how to play the drum was the worst idea I had in my short life.

 

Damn you Hollywood.

 

So here I was in the middle of the night, dressed in a revolution war epoch costume caked with blood, a bandage on my head, drum in my hands flanked by a red 7 feet, horn and tail, devil. What was I doing here? I said noting; accepting my fate, apprehending what was to come.

 

I adjusted the drum strap on my shoulder, pick up my drum stick, raised them and…

 

“What do I play?” I had no idea what I was really supposed to do here.

 

Hellboy looked pensive for a moment, looking in the distance if the fog held some kind of answer. Still not looking at me he said: “Whatever you want kid, I am sure you will find what needed.”

 

Not helpful at all. He then added: “But you should call them here first and then… something to walk on. A march would be the best.”

 

I let out a sigh of exasperation. That not much to go on but it was better than nothing. A march? I only knew how to play two of them. One was the school victory march we’re using for school event and stuff. It’s upbeat, cherry and generally used when we need to do a victory parade if our school wins a trophy. Not really appropriate here. The other is three of four different cadence of the U.S. Navy march Mister Jones taught us as an exercise for the marching band.

 

It will have to do I guess. Kind of fitting since we are on battlefield. As I was trying to remember how it goes, because you know when you never remember your text when you have a speech to give, the same goes for scores, I was about to begin when I realize that I almost forgot the other  piece of advice Hellboy just gave me. I had to get their ‘attention’ first. Who I was supposed to get the attention of, I wasn’t sure since we were obviously alone on the field, but at that point, I was going with whatever rocked his boat.

 

The best way to gain attention with a drum? It’s the drumroll. I started beating my drum with the most powerful and loud roll I could. That ought to get their attention. But I had to apply myself, because while simple the drumroll need a constant rhythm and a steady volume the sound of my drum seemed to echo around me and the emptiness of the field vanished.

 

I managed to stop my roll with a final sharp beat of my drumstick before I lost control of the drumroll and continue in my momentum.

 

The sudden silence was louder in my ears than the previous sound of my instrument. Well, I can tell you that it worked to get their attention, because I had the impression that we weren't alone anymore. It’s hard to describe because even if there was nothing around us I felt like that I was in the middle of a crowd. It was an oppressive feeling, like I was being watched from somewhere. My face and my back were feeling damp with cold sweat and the lump of lead in my stomach had chase the butterfly everywhere else in my body, making me feel queasy. It was like the world was waiting for my next move.

 

I wiped my face with my sleeve and I began playing. I had no problem finding the music scores anymore, because the fear scared away everything else in my head. I felt like I really shouldn’t mess this up.

 

A military march normally had horns, fife, woodwind and brass instrument and to accompany the drum, and there is generally more than one drum, so the fact that I was playing the cadences alone, made the militaristic march seem even more harsh and strict, and made me realize that I was the more alone in this.

 

The sound was carrying far now and the keys, strain and melodies were accompanied by the silence that would normally be filled with the other player, punctuated the night. The rhythm was abrupt, but I guessed you could walk on it. I began to get used to play, when I felt Hellboy hand on my shoulder to signal I should walk. I lifted my eyes form my drum and began to advance toward the edge of the field. There must have been a really small breeze in the air because I didn’t even felt it on my skin and the fog was stirring up.

 

I was walking in pace with my drum, concentrating to see where I was putting my feet on the uneven ground of the field with little light coming from the public stands. Hellboy a few paces behind me on my right.  The further we were getting away for the towns and its light, the more the fog and the obscurity were oppressing. My eyes had a hard time to adapt and I was beginning to believe my ears were playing tricks on me. Because as we were approaching the dirt path, I thought I heard footsteps matching mines and Hellboy's behind the drum beat. It was ridiculous because if I concentrated on my hearing I could definitely hear only my footfall on the grass and those of Hellboy who had adopted the pacing of the music. And yet… when I let my ears wander I perceived soft echoes of our stomping feet. Like there were others walking behind us?

 

I even risked a quick glance behind before we reached the path; I looked back in front immediately. I was telling myself that it was because I had to watch my step so I wouldn’t trip. Yep. Because I was telling myself that I absolutely didn’t see shape in the dancing fog with in the faint light. I _really_ wastrying to convince myself that I didn’t see the shadows looking like peoples, standing in two lines behind me. Nope, I had to concentrate on my drum, alright?

 

Believe me? Nope? Good, because I wasn’t convincing myself at that moment either.

 

It got worse when we hit the dirt path. With no source of light and the fog, my earing got decupled. The apparent number of marching men had risen exponentially, because I was hearing them even clearer now. Judging by the sound they seemed even more numerous, all following the cadence of my drum. I was concentrating so hard on how I was playing, that I think I began to forget what I was playing. I was feeling like I was making mistakes left and right. I never felt so self-conscious in my life.

 

I had to concentrate and ignore my fears. I couldn’t go back because it would mean that I would have to walk through what was behind me, and I had the feeling that if I started to run forward they would pursue. So my only option was to make them follow me calmly like they were doing at the moment.

 

So, I focused on what I was playing. It was still the same military march that I started with, but now it felt inappropriate. It felt too incomplete because I didn’t have the other player with me. So I decided to change it a little. I began adding here and there some of the rhythm and melodies I learned for the reenactment, since it was of circumstances. It felt better but still not right.

 

While I was racking my brain for what I was supposed to play, my hands began to move by themselves. I was so into it that I guess I self-hypnotize myself, because I don’t really remember what I played after that or when exactly I stopped thinking about what I should playing.

 

I was just… playing. That is all. It didn’t matter what. The beat and rhythm were coming naturally and we were all marching at the same pace. The simultaneous foot fall of hundreds of feet behind me added to staccato of my drumstick on the skin of my instrument.

 

It felt like I was in a dream and that nothing of what happened that day was real.

 

I don’t know how long I stayed like that, walking and playing my drum, still advancing toward an unknown destination, but I had the feeling it was there on this path. All I know is that I walked a long time that night and when I came back the day after that, to check if any of this had been real, I realized that we took a lot of detour, on little trails between fields and farms, near wood and river. I don’t even remember walking all that. I don’t even remember taking any kind of turns that night.

 

But I remember that I felt my music was in the air filling our ears, in the ground transmitting the shock of our shoes, and in our hearts beating alongside it. The sound of my drum was a powerful thing, with something primal and hypnotic to it.

 

I even think at some point I was playing the Christmas song ‘The Little Drummer Boy’. And in the column behind me, a chorus of humming formed to accompany the march. Then, to the humming, singing was added. It was a song about… I think it was about the war finally ending, about battles done and over. About coming home, seeing our loved ones once more and taking them into our arms. About… I don’t remember. Even if you ask me, I wouldn’t be able to tell you the lyrics.

 

It was… I wouldn’t say magical. Maybe, solemn would be a better adjective. Also, poignant, moving and… important. I felt that what I was doing was important. Not to me, but important in general. Like it should have been done a long time ago.

 

And then, in front of us, there was our destination. There was a crossroad with a tree that had its branches hanging over it. And under the branches was standing a tall figure shrouded in black. I could not tell who it was, but somehow felt that I knew him and that we were supposed to meet him here.

 

We were marching toward him, toward the destination. It was where we were supposed to go; I felt it deep inside me. Twilight was barely breaking the night when I reached the cross road and I was about to go under the branches when I felt a hand on each of my shoulders stopping me from going any further. I looked over my right shoulder and I saw Hellboy who looked serious, he looked at me and told me that I needed to stop. I turned my head to look over my left shoulder were the really tall man covered in black shook his head telling me something. I think he said **‘’NOT YET’’**

 

I stood there watching in a daze the parade of dead soldiers' march forward, singing to the cadence of their feet, paying no attention to us. They were in two lines, weapon on their shoulder and peoples wearing different uniforms were walking next to each other. Red or blue didn’t matter anymore, because in the end, they were all the color of the fog they were made of, a light grey tinted in desperate blue, no more consistent than shadows. They walked on, one after another under the branches of the tree, going beyond the crossroad and disappearing in the darkness, toward somewhere I couldn't see.

 

The sun had begun to languidly show his nose on the horizon behind us, and as the light was advancing like an unstoppable wall and the apparition began to fade slowly. No, it was more like they were dissipating, becoming more and more transparent as the lines were nearing the ends. I was feeling the warmth of the sunlight on my back as the last of the soldiers passed under the tree.

 

The last one however, looked back in my direction, or at least it seemed.Maybe my eyes were playing tricks on me because at that point they looked more like a trick of light on vapor, I thought I did recognized my professor. Or maybe my eyes played tricks on me the whole time.

 

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

 

I sat for wile in the grass watching the sun continuing to rise. I was so tired that my body had gone beyond the urge of sleep, but at the same time I felt, empty and fulfilled, happy and sad. My mind was feeling refreshed but at the same time like it was on fire. I felt like… like what I played was the best performance of my life. It was incredible. I wonder if I could compare this to giving a concert in front of a crowd of millions of peoples?

 

We had to walk back a little toward a practicable road where a car came to pick us up. In the car, he gave me some explanations like he promised. It was a long one and I didn’t totally understand it but I can resume it like this. The two major reasons it all happened was because numerous spirits of the soldiers that died in the war were never properly put to rest. It’s like they didn’t even knew that they were dead. The second one was because of the reenactment. With all the efforts deployed for the event to make it as close as possible to the real thing, the ‘ghost’ used it as a conduit to continue their battle.

 

But it’s not as simple as that. How could blanks suddenly turn to live ammo? Hellboy explained to me that the two moments in time superposed themselves. So for a moment I was in the past, the present and the future in the same time. I tried to see if he was bullshitting me in some way, but he looked quite serious as he was telling me this.

 

I’m still not sure I believe him, but at least now I have an understanding of what happened in the field. He tried to explain to me how it worked again but he lost me along the way. Something about spirits, peoples, seasons, stars and cosmos energies and what not. I could resume it all by saying that the details of the play were too close to the original battle. I retorted that it couldn’t have been exactly the same and the battle didn’t even happen at that location. Historically, it happened where there is a street full of houses now. Hellboy then said that it didn’t need to be exactly the same for it to happen, just close enough.

 

And as for why I had to play the drum, he told me that it was because it was a drum. Hellboy continued to explain to me that drum and war go together like hotdog and mustard. You can have them separate with something else but together those two still work well together like an old team. They go back to the dawn of men, the drums I mean, when monkeys began to realized that life was better when you didn’t have to spend your time hanging on to something, one of them pick up something and hit something else and realized that you could make funny sounds like this. And next he decided to see what sound the head of the monkey next tree who had stolen his banana would make. In ancient time, they used drum for celebration and other events, but also to call war and to send it away. That’s the really important part; you have to send it away.

 

Even today, the drum is still part of the military. A small part, reserved for special occasion such as parade, triumph and funeral, but it’s still here. Forget horns, woodwind and brass, it all comes back to the drum. Everything else is accessory.

 

I joked with Hellboy that it was a chance that I didn’t end up possessed like the other back there, because otherwise he wouldn’t had someone to play the drums. But then the bastard had to smirk like there was something I didn’t know.

 

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

 

So, here we are now, a few days later and things are slowly beginning to settle down in this little town. There's still a lot of grief going around and a lot of rumors but I decided to write this in my blog because I needed to talk about it without anybody stopping me midsentence or freaking out.

 

Believe me or not, but that was the time I met Hellboy.

 

Thank you for reading and good night.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Author note:
> 
> Bookeater: This little one shot was inspire to me by the song ‘The little drummer boy’ this last Christmas while I was drunk my ass off. It took me a little while to gather my ideas and to take the time to write this. If you want to put a label on which universe of Hellboy it is, I would say it’s a cross between the comics and the novels. Please tell me what you thought about it. 
> 
> It was also an experiment in writing a Hellboy fanfiction other than Hellboy POV.
> 
> I don’t know what kind of one shot I will be doing next, the inspiration for those come really randomly to me. Like right now I would like to do a Hellboy/Stripperella one shot. What would you think of that?
> 
> And a BIG thank to Shiroyuki for beta, proofreading and whipping my ass to keep my deadline.
> 
> Thank you and see you next time 
> 
>  
> 
> Shiroyuki : Hey there *^_^* Long time no see *^_^*
> 
> I wish I could corroborate Bookeater source of inspiration I can’t for we didn’t attend the same Christmas party but it’s the same story he told me when he returned from his holyday.
> 
> While I didn’t do much in term of writing, I DID whip is ass (figuratively mind you). Well, I had to keep him in line and make sure there weren’t too many literary drifts (this is my way of saying that he goes out topics). And the most important thing that I had to do was making sure that Samuel remained in character, hopefully I didn’t screw the proverbial pooch on this one.
> 
> Because of an involuntary reference from Book’s part I think we can say that this one shot is part of the ‘Tibetan Hotdog’ universe. If you missed it’s the thing about war and drums going together like hotdog and mustard. I found it funny and he didn’t notice until I point it out to him *^_^*
> 
> So, thanks for reading and I hope you enjoyed it *^_^*


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